The Meretrice
I stare at myself in the mirror for extra long. It almost feels absurd to whiten my face with makeup when I shine like a piece of paper. Have I always?
I can’t say I recall.
I sigh and put down the little cotton puff. It’s killing me to spend every day not pursuing necromancy. It’s what I’m here for. It’s why the Ring brought me to Mistress Vincenza.
I deserve to touch the Ring.
I do. It made me want to access it; it knows that I will try. But it’s gone a week since the church visit, and I don’t know where exactly to begin. The Ring just won’t show me.
I turn on the sink, quickly brushing my teeth—I have a terrible habit of forgetting it until after my face is caked, and though it hasn’t caused problems, it feels like it should. This will technically be the first day in a while that I’m brushing first.
I swear that there used to be a taste to this stuff. I had to hold back the compulsion to just swallow the strangely crunchy—like how sand is crunchy—paste.
Oh, too many thoughts and problems. Why do I feel like an internal monologue is going to repeat on loop over toothpaste? I don’t want that. I just want to sit down maybe. My vision’s going blurry.
I stumble out from my room. Reaching for the stairs before… Ack. Fuck.
I fall onto my side, leaving a slight ache in my hip while I lay. Low and bludgeoning, the pain echoes with each beat of my heart.
Mistress Vincenza’s door quickly opens with her rushing towards me. “Kay—Catarina! Are you okay?”
“Just dizzy.” I cover my face, groaning. “I lost sight for a second.”
She kneels beside me. “Is it better when you’re low?”
I blink. “It’s coming back, slowly.”
“Probably a blood pressure issue. Have you been drinking water? Eating?”
I blink again. “I think I forgot.”
“For how long?”
“A couple days for each?” I push my back up against the wall. “Wait, no. I had a cup of water yesterday.”
“Catarina. Look me in the eyes and say that.”
I dare to obey, staring into them. Barely a moment do I manage to stand up to her attempt to be menacing, while her eyes stay a soft and gentle pink, before cackling away my limited sanity.
She giggles back, a smile staining her lips.
I wish she would hold me. I know that the Ring has given its endorsement to my pursuit, but… I almost prefer hers. Which I don’t have. I might never have it. I probably will never have it.
This crush will be something good for me, but the Ring never promised it would be in the way I hoped. It never… promised anything actually.
I wish I could hear back from it, whenever I prayed. Not those feelings or guesses—I have those whether or not I want them—but actual verbal commands, like my peers used to have after morning prayer in secondary.
“Okay. I’m going to help you up. Lean on me if you get dizzy.” She loops her arm around mine. “Ready?”
I stand up with her, feeling my eyesight fall away as soon as I do so. I don’t hesitate to take her offer.
It takes a whole moment for me to realize that I’m being held. Not… in whole, but my arm is.
“You’ll be sitting, or laying, in a moment.” She helps me into the living room, leaving me on the couch with a blanket on my lap. “What are you in the mood for?”
“What?”
“Food. I can make some things.”
“...Sausage?”
“Not that.” She grimaces.
“More whore pasta then?”
“I would be happy to.”
I spread out across the sofa, music starting in the background. Except for the pictures that constantly make me sad in a strange way I can’t reconcile when I look at them, this is a cozy place. “Will I learn how to make whore pasta for you? As an apprentice?”
“It isn’t the kind of food you need a recipe for,” she says from the kitchenette.
“What kind of food is it?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment.”
I close my eyes and wait for the moment to…
“Sorry, but you have to sit up to eat.” She shakes my shoulder.
“I’m tired.” I get up with her assistance.
“Food will help.” She takes an inspiring leap into trying the foul smelling dish.
I can’t help but glare down, realizing that this is nearly exactly the lead up to when she patronized me. A kind gesture of food, plus one kind gesture of a hug, and suddenly I’m able to heal illness.
I push down the image of her horror and start on the pasta. “Can I learn about the pasta now?”
She pauses, stirring her fork in pointless circles. “Whore pasta is just a word my wife would use to call whatever she could make from her pantry. She probably got it from the whores she worked with.”
“Why did she work with whores?”
“She was one.” Mistress Vincenza’s eye glimmers, affection.
“You might feel that you’re behind your schedule to learn necromancy, but I was even further behind you at your age.
I completely refused interactions with men, staying completely without consort…
First thing I did when homosexuality was legal was visit a whorehouse. ”
I snicker inappropriately before suppressing it. “Sorry.”
Her eyes raise to mine, bright and beaming. “No, it is a little funny. If you could imagine, I was incredibly awkward, and my chosen meretrice was also having her first time with a woman.“ She slides a cup of water closer to me. “Drink.”
“Oh, okay.” I down the cup, realizing that my mouth has been cotton dry. “How am I supposed to remember to eat and drink without feeling hungry or thirsty?”
She grabs a pitcher of water, refilling my cup. “You make a schedule of it. Mine’s a little bit shaken today by doing this in the morning, but typically I have this exact meal after the parlour closes. I find that four glasses of water works out well enough for me.”
“Should I adjust for height?” I say half-jokingly while swigging down more, and pouring my next glass. I’m… independent. Yeah.
“You’re far more active than me. Try to eat what you did before joining the parlour.”
“I don’t remember.” I shrug.
“My sweet meretrice would always be the one who kept me eating properly.” She casually throws a tear off her cheek. “After our first encounter, she came to my home and said she ‘owed me another round’ after how poorly she did. I was hosting dinner for my family—and they all overheard.”
“You gave her your address?”
She averts her eyes and excuses, “I paid with check, and she went to the credit union for my address. If she wasn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, I might’ve held a grudge.”
I bundle slightly closer to her, swallowing down just enough to ask, “what happened next?”
“It was clear that she just wanted my access to the Ring again… and she wasn’t the type of woman I could say no to.” Her throat catches. “After my father caused a fight, she stayed in my apartment to comfort me.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen, imagining what kind of ‘comfort’ there was.
“Oh, sure, there was that…” she teases, licking her teeth. “But, her comfort actually started with rifling my kitchen and making me a ‘real dinner.’ And yelling at me for not having anchovies.”
“She sounded lovely… Do you miss her?”
Mistress Vincenza frowns. “Is that even a question? It’s been just beyond a year since...
” She looks at the space I summoned Oliva.
“I’m afraid, Kate. I was supposed to spend immortality with her, but now—I can’t.
What if I forget her? I want to wake up looking for her.
I want to hold her grief as though it was recent.
I want every time I enter this room to miss her, but no matter how many pictures—It feels so long ago now.
When she was here, it felt like I only just met her yesterday, but now it feels like decades have passed. ”
I don’t know how to comfort her. Eyes shredded by tears, skin and bones that quiver. I offer my hand into hers, hoping it won’t be too inappropriate.
She squeezes it with both her hands, pulling it to her chest. “I’m sorry. You’re my apprentice; you shouldn’t be burdened by my own history.”
“I don’t see why I can’t.”
“Becasue it’s unfair, Kate. You came here to be a necromancer, not my emotional comfort. You deserve to be able to choose to ignore my whining, but I’m your mistress. No choice is free in my presence.”
“Then be selfish. I don’t mind. Burden me. I’ve been a burden to you.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” She hesitates, then grabs me and pulls me to her chest in an embrace. “...Now I’ve made two mistakes,” she whimpers into my shoulder.
I search the matron’s words for comfort. The Great Ring doesn’t create evil. I’m not evil.
But, this moment calls for something more platonic than I’m feeling. It feels sickening to realize that I’m enjoying this—when she’s in grief. I swear, Great Ring, I don’t want to be. I want only to feel empathy and her sorrow, but there’s something warm bubbling beneath my fingertips.
“Is this so bad?” I whisper.
“I don’t even need to open my eyes to tell it’s happened already.” She squeezes me closer. “What would I tell Piero? Our patrons? The inappropriate things they’ll think…”
“How would they doubt the Ring’s gift?”
“Easily.”
Easily.
The matron thought I was doubting, and I didn’t realize it. It almost feels like the default state of a person to doubt the Ring.
Her chest heaves against mine; her hand grazes just behind my shoulders in a spot that stops my breath. “I appreciate you, Kate. Just you. Not for your work. Not for being here for me. But because you exist.”
I’m not sure if she’s talking to me.
“Enjoy your access to the Ring for the day—I won’t be joining you in the parlour. You can still manage, right?”
“I can.”
“Good.”
“...Mistress?”
“It feels so wrong to hear you call me that like this. Please, just ‘Vincenza.’”
“Vincenza.” Something buzzes between our skin. “I don’t mind talking with you. I-if you want, we can keep doing this. Not as mistress and apprentice, but just… as us?”
“Do you want that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She slowly releases her grasps, leaning away.
It’s time to go. I grab the rest of my bowl and leave with it.